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Балерина — шлюшка с мозгами —
И с цунами из пары ног.
Проститут-балерон — феерия,
ПолудЕнному Фавну — хот-дог.
Вот она — театральная труппа:
Трупов нет, маскарад налицо.
Домино адюльтеров-супругов,
Вакханалок — и агнцов.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2019 (c).
Написано после репетиции «Щелкунчика». Все совпадения случайны. Или нет.
Abdulla Jul 21
As she walks around, tiptoeing about,
Judging herself so filled with doubt.
Conform, compress, and pay the dues—
The audience smiles at the pointe shoes.

The air felt warm on a tightened chest,
Urgency excused the hurt she pressed.
Forced to step and leave a mess.

The stage creaked with every leap,
Cracked and crumbled, she let pieces seep.
When souls so kind are forced to break,
the warm air shakes in a state of quake.

Oh, am I the cause of these broken boards?
Or was it rotten wood no one restored?

Toes blistered where the thought fell by
The aching hush of silent cries.
The pointe shoes take their final steps.
She only wished to see the stage rest.

But still, the pieces kept on falling.
It was never her or even the crowd calling.
Oh, it was the rain above and warm summer air
That left the stage in a state of despair.

A soul no longer trapped by the crowd ahead
Or being the cause of the stages death—
Hearts move on to carry other burdens,
How will she think for herself with no more curtains?
Written June 2025
THE LAST WORDS in the taste of love –
As I summon the sweetness to wash my palate
My skin can never find much rest in the day;
A makeshift bed; my body feels like a pallet.
Growing old, means having a mix of colours
Inside of my beard; making it a face palette.

But wouldn’t I love to own a palace –
To French kiss someone in Paris,
And to be loved by both her parents.

Find me a love that is apparent;
Stealing a lingering kiss, like stealing the time
But let’s not clock in the times you tick me off –
Just tick off my check-boxes, of being the one.

And let our love be a beautiful love ballet.
In darkness he rode to the castle gate,
With armor of steel and cloak of night,
Out pacing the daylight's flight.

He stormed through the castle door,
To slay the king,
Leaving the little prince in a pool of ****** dread.

Years pass, but in the still of night,
The prince chases after his father's killer,
Vengeance in his sight.

The rouge rode swiftly as the wind,
But the prince was nimble, catching him,
Then in his father's name, he did that man in.
I love writing medieval fiction.
Morgan Howard Nov 2024
Engulfed in flames
The inferno consumes me
Dancing across my body
In a dangerous ballet

My skin
Charred and melting
As I incinerate
Until I am nothing more
Than a pile of ashes

But suddenly
I rise
Up from the ashes
Not letting anything hinder me
Paula Blossom Oct 2024
Oh Little Swan
You have been hurt
By the touch
Of the vicious man

Oh Little Swan
The things you would do
For the love of your life
His smile and eyes blue

Oh Little Swan
Your fragile body
Vanishes into thin air
With every turn

Oh Little Swan
You long to be free
From memories of  
Anguish and misery

But this day
Will never come
Dry your tears
Little Swan
Smile and say your goodbyes
On this cold, dark day
I wrote this poem after I read Flightless Bird and got inspired by the story.
MetaVerse Aug 2024
A triolet
     's a pirouette
In a ballet
A triolet
(Or should I say
     A triolette?)
A triolet
     's a pirouette.


PERTINAX Jan 2024
The morning dew drops fell to their rest
Little stars shine moonlight reflections
Each reminiscent of the different dimensions
To which water can be a part
For on the tapestry of earthy green leaves
A universal ballet is being rehearsed
As spinning fractals dance to the rhyming crickets
Whose choir hums to a classical melody
That soars as high as ancient redwoods
Towering above the dew drops as they pilè
Into a pirouetting waterfall
Whose crash sends cosmic waves
Of pitter pattering percussion
That quickly rises to a triumphant crescendo
•••
Only to fall silent as the first light of morning
Transforms the dewy pantheon
Into glorious diamonds of golden rays
Whose attitude stands defiant
Against the altitude of the coming vault
Back to the skies from which dew cried
A forlorn mist longing to reach the clouds
And escape the terrestrial embrace
Whose gravity forever tugs with tidal force
Turning mist to rain to fall in stars
Droplets destined to reunite with the lonely night
And once again dance to the dew drop ballet
For a visual experience please visit my page on commaful https://commaful.com/play/pertinax/dew-drop-ballet/?sh=1
Bella Isaacs Feb 2023
Gaze at me, with you ever-so-slight smudged lipstick
Pop-punk lyrics issuing from your perfect mouth
Dark circles from the khôl and folly
Forgiveness from your youth
Torsion of perfection into a wry smile
Sober, you say, drunk, who'll walk upon my style?
Who'll dare? I dare, in laying bare, ballet hands,
The contents of my *****; You know, friends,
I may be an actress, and pretentious,
But my ability to lie's contentious.
Can I just be my perfect self, please?
Maria Mitea May 2021
on that day
she performed the dance
in a mortal silence

lustful intensity,

the unusual
exit with the back
was hiding her face
without any wave of hope,
the eyes
where
seeking consolation,
her spine
became alive
like a tempting serpent,
arms
were wavy wings
a cry for help,
legs outstretched
like two cello strings
rising
under the guidance
of internal forces,

the pirouettes
faked
with a great talent
the lack of courage,
as a sacrifice brought to the air
she kept doing
dozens of rotations
as if
the body
was anointed
with the dark air,

then,

it fell into its arms
like a wet coat,

every movement
spoke
again and again
"I love you
and
I hate you",

sun rays
died
in a light
that bowed obediently
under  the public eyes
riveted
like a forest
of frozen trees,
waiting for
what's next
Tribute to one of the best world”s ballerinas Maya Plitseskaya!
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